


Spiky

by composewithcolour



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-23
Updated: 2016-03-23
Packaged: 2018-05-28 15:40:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6334711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/composewithcolour/pseuds/composewithcolour
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in ACT 1. Fenris is awoken by a drunken Hawke.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spiky

Fenris blinked in the darkness, even his keen eyes taking a moment to adjust to their surroundings. The fire by which he had fallen asleep had long since reduced to burning embers which cast but a small glow that lit the tips of his toes.

With a small groan, he shifted to sit up in the chair he had fallen asleep in, rolling as his shoulders as he moved. As the knot in his shoulder tensed with the movement, his lyrium markings flared, lighting the room like a lightning flash, there for a moment and then gone. The sharp shock of pain, like an intense static shock from each flare, was enough to fully awake him and for his senses to come alive.

He often fell asleep in that chair. He’d yet to take any bed in the manor for his own, preferring to simply sit by the fire. If there was a disturbance he didn’t want to be caught unaware. Very rarely would he even take his spiky armour off, as sleep often eluded him entirely. The armour did however make it even worse if you did fall asleep.

For a moment he was unsure what it was that had awoken him. It must have been the early hours of the morning still, for no light filtered in through the windows and even awake, he could already feel the pull of sleep pulling at his eyelids once more.

His eyes only closed for a mere moment, when he heard the singing once again. Upon hearing it, he instantly knew that the voice’s owner was the one who had awoken him.

The singer was quite obviously tone deaf and either drunk or delirious with the way the words slurred into something completely unintelligible.

For a moment the singing went quiet and Fenris dared to let his eyes slide shut once more. However the drunkard chose that moment to start belting another song about a barbequed nug and a woman from Nevarra.

With the lyrics all that clearer, he suddenly became very aware that he knew the voice behind it. Blinking with confusion and uncertainty, Fenris rose from the chair where he had slept, to cross over to the window.

“ _Venhedis_!” he swore in something akin to a hiss, when the shards of glass that littered his floor bit into the soles of his feet. He had wondered where the bottle he’d been holding the night before had ended up. It must have slipped from his grip. A shame, the wine had been finely aged and had a smoky edge – even if he drank it the same way he drank the piss poor stuff.

The window he approached had long since seen a clean, it panes covered in a film of grime and dust. Refusing to wipe it clean with the edge of the long tunic he wore under his plate mail, he unhooked the latch and poked his head outside.

The air was unusually bitter for this time of year and a fog had settled over Kirkwall during the night. Fenris gave an involuntary shiver. Never would he ever wish to be back in Tevinter, but he could not deny that he missed the fairer weather – and The Free Marches weren’t even that cold.

The singing was even louder with the window open and even in the fog it wasn’t difficult to see who it belonged to.

Hawke. Who else?

The Mage was sat alone in the stone courtyard, her legs sprawled out in front of her like a child, and her face tipped back to the night sky. As she sang she clicked her heels together in much better rhythm than that of which she was singing. She appeared to be shivering slightly herself, but she also seemed unlikely to be moving anytime soon.

What was she doing in Hightown anyway? Even if she had spent the evening in The Hanged Man (- which she had, without question. Ever since Fenris met her she had spent every moment beside the dwarf) her Uncle’s house was quite literally just down the street.

Why was it that the woman, who was quite obviously in possession of some intelligence, found such immense joy in doing everything in the most awkward way possible? It truly seemed that her true skills lay, not in magic, but in finding specific situations in which her antics could annoy him directly!

Fenris went to close the window, choosing just to leave her out there, when he saw something stir in the fog, in one of the dark corners of the street, where the braziers didn’t quite touch. It could quite simply have been a trick of his eye, but the streets were always littered with bandits at night, even Hightown.

He closed the window another inch, but something gripped at his chest and left a sour taste in his mouth.

Hawke had collapsed on the ground entirely, her fingers stroking the ground tenderly as if it were silk sheets ( _that_ particular thought disappeared with a quick dismissal from the side of his brain that was actually awake). There was a noise, somewhere in the darkness, but Hawke no longer seemed to be conscious, or she had simply gone past the point of caring.

There was definitely someone out there, Fenris was now certain, his sensitive ears, twitching slightly at the disturbance, disagreeing with his eyes which had yet to actually catch a glimpse of anyone. As much as Fenris would have been happy to leave her out there he couldn’t do so, not when she was going to be found by Maker’s know what. He’d met Hawke’s mother (a rather awkward moment when Hawke had bumped into Leandra in Lowtown in the presence of a pirate, a blood mage and a runaway slave), and he didn’t want to know how Leandra would react if her daughter was slaughtered alone in the streets.

With a deep sigh that rumbled somewhere deep in his chest, he pushed himself from the window, the glass still embedded in his feet. As he passed through the Manor’s front door, he grabbed the long sword he always carried with him.

Sure enough, a figure was bent over Hawke, rifling through her pockets. Apparently, however, the sight of the oddly tall, muscular elf that happened to glow and was wielding a sword far larger than he was enough to send the thief running with a shriek and an apology.

Hawke seemed to have taken no notice of the situation, her eyes closed, her mouth moving rapidly as though still singing, although no sound came out.

“Hawke?”

No response, except a slight pause in breath before she continued as she was.

Rolling his eyes, he instead reached out with his foot, pressing lightly against her ribs and pushing her far enough that she began to roll onto her side, before her eyes snapped open.

She blinked a couple of time, although her eyes were still glazed, she murmured something he still couldn’t make out, before she looked at his feet beside her. A smile crossed her lips and one hand grasped one of his feet, as she closed her eyes again, “ _Fen_ -” she muttered, her mouth not quite forming the second syllable.

He swallowed hard, trying to ignore her hand upon his bare skin. She’d never even touched his armour before, never mind him. The lyrium markings flared slightly at the presence of her magic, but it wasn’t…entirely uncomfortable.

What was far stranger was that she was able to recognise him just by his feet. Danarius was doing a poor job if even his ankles proclaimed who he was.

“Hawke, get up.”

She curled over on her side, half lying on his feet, half wrapped herself around them.

Definitely drunk. Between her cracking jokes and arguing with him, he’d never seen her so…touchy-feely.

“ _Fen_ -” she started again. She appeared to be having trouble with her R’s, “’ve you seen Avelllline?”

“Aveline?” he looked up around the courtyard, but Aveline was nowhere to be seen, “No.”

Hawke made a noise in her throat, which was something like annoyance, as she rolled back onto her back, “she’s here a moment ago…then, I dunno, I’m down...” she patted the ground next to her, “she’s taking me to see the bollocks!”

Fenris frowned, “Bollocks?”

The mage snorted and laughed, half choking, “the _Barracks._ I meant Barracks. Maker, you never listen Fen…you….you need to work on that,” she was grabbing hold of his legs trying to climb up onto her feet, but her hands were close to grabbing his ass, and her face was moving dangerously close to his crutch.

“ _Hawke_!” he stepped back out of her reach, but before she could drop back down on her face, he gripped her under her arms and hauled her up and onto her feet. She seemed oblivious to her own ineptitude,

“Well. She wasn’t going to _show_ me the Barracks per se. But they share sleep…you know…space, right? And I was reckoning…they can’t _alllll_ be asleep at the same time? So _I_ can have a bed,” she swayed in his grip, weighing on him heavily. Her face seemed oddly young, especially as she stumbled in her thoughts. It could have almost been sweet if the stench of the vile ale they served down The Hanged Man didn’t leave her lips with every breath.

“You...you wanted to sleep in the Barracks?” Fenris turned his head slightly from her and away from her breath, “just go home.”

“ _Fenris!”_ she whined, saying his name properly for the first time, “I share a bunk bed…with Carver. A _bunk bed…_ with _Carver…_ do you have any idea? _Snores_ , and he kicks in sleep and…and…he…there are things no sister should know! I just wanted _one_ night away…and…and Aveline’s gone!”

Fenris clenched his jaw. He didn’t like Carver anyway, but that was more than he needed to know.

Hawke pulled away from him, but instantly began to fall, before he caught her once more, “just…leave me here. I can sleep outside…’m a grown up,” even as she spoke her head lolled forward, until her forehead was resting against his chest. A quiet snore left her lips.

Fenris was getting a headache, his feet were still sore from the glass and he was already beginning to feel a little too sober himself. She’d be her usual self in the morning, her snarky, reckless, infuriating self…if he was lucky.

He put an arm around her waist and his other under her legs, and lifted her up. She was heavier than he imagined. Humans were all muscle and curves. His hand tightened ever so slightly on her hip as he walked. He tried not to think about it.

He kicked the manor door shut behind him, trying to support Hawke’s weight with one arm as he fiddled with the locks.

“ _Why are you so spiky_?” she muttered, her cheek brushing the spikes of his pauldrons.

He couldn’t help the little smirk he gave her, “because I do things just to annoy you Hawke.”

“ _Mm. Sounds about right_.”


End file.
